Monthly Archives: March 2014

Recently in my blog bibletracts (bibletracts.wordpress.com) I’ve been exploring the meaning of resurrection. The timing is right for two reasons. First, the liturgical year of the Church is now approaching the season of Easter, the Christian holy day set aside to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. Secondly, because resurrection is fundamentally misunderstood when its meaning is fixed to something that supposedly happened to someone nearly 2,000 years ago. Treating it as a fact of history only apparently takes it seriously, when in reality a literal reading cuts the energizing nerve of resurrection altogether.

Biblical literalism is a one-dimensional reading that takes the Bible at face value. The attraction is that it effectively eliminates the potentially corrupting intervention of interpretation. There is nothing to interpret – it’s all right there on the surface, in what it says. A decided advantage to other approaches is literalism’s permission (and forgiveness) not to think critically.

But a literal reading of the Bible is then faced with the need to choose between contradictory texts: Who killed the giant Goliath, for instance, David (1 Samuel 17:51) or Elhanan (2 Samuel 21:19)? As well as inconsistent “reports”: Did all of Jesus’ disciples abandon him at his arrest (Gospel of Mark), or did a few stay with him to the very end (Gospel of John)?

The energy it takes to cleverly maneuver such obstacles in order to justify a literal reading gets tied up at the surface, so to speak, when the reader might break through to deeper meaning. “Deeper meaning” doesn’t get us closer to facts (which is a modern delusion) but closer to the experience – the encounter, insight, crisis, or realization – that inspired the production of meaning in the first place.

Why should we want to treat the resurrection as anything other or beyond the historical miracle of Jesus coming back to life? The absolute and exclusive nature of this historical claim is typically used to set Christianity apart from other religions and to sanction its own errant denominations. If we loosen our grip on the resurrection as an historical fact, won’t we also lose our standing as the one true religion?

That’s assuming validity to the claim that Christianity is the one true religion, or that it’s even meaningful to speak of a “true religion” in the first place. As I’ve worked that one over in a previous post (http://wp.me/p2tkek-f3), I want to move more specifically into an exploration of the originary experience of resurrection and its expanded architecture of meaning.

Let’s start with the resurrection taken as a miracle, which refers to a supernatural intervention suspending or breaking into the nexus of historical cause and effect. As miracle, the resurrection was a unique event that happened many centuries ago, whereby God intervened on the natural course of events and raised the dead Jesus back to life.

As long as we don’t look any more closely at it, the resurrection-as-miracle is free to sit there in a mental vacuum without much context or background. Again, this is precisely where it is most useful to our efforts in staking an exclusive claim on truth.

But where do we learn about the resurrection? We didn’t witness the historical event ourselves, nor did we get the news from a living first-hand witness. Instead, we find it in a story.

Orthodoxy tries to protect its claim at this point by insisting that the so-called stories are really eye-witness accounts of historical facts. Or if they are not exactly eye-witness accounts (no one claims to have seen Jesus coming out of the tomb), then the authority of the Bible as “God’s word” makes them just as good or better. That leaves us with the resurrection as an absolute (stand-alone) fact, and the story of the resurrection a literal account. Done and done.

As far as the story is concerned, we are faced with the challenge of determining which “account” is the most literal. The Gospels don’t match up in full agreement on such details as who discovers the empty tomb, how the news gets out, and whether anyone sees Jesus (presumably risen) afterwards. Maybe these details don’t really matter. But then again, if it’s supposed to be God’s word to your ears and the proof is in the miracle, then errors in detail make the whole thing a little less reliable, don’t they?

A closer look at the story of the resurrection reveals an emptiness or openness at the key location where the decisive proof is supposed to be found. The abandoned and now-vacant tomb is not exactly proof of a resurrection. “He is not here” is all that can be said at this critical moment in the plot. In the narrative section just before this point we see Jesus hanging dead on his cross, and in the subsequent section we see Jesus alive again – though interestingly not in the earliest Gospel (Mark).

The orientation and balance of the Gospel narratives around this turning-point of the tomb suggests that the resurrection story is more than just a factual report. At this point (in this discussion but also in the Gospel story) we begin to get the sense of the narrative as not merely describing the mechanics of a miraculous event long ago, but as speaking to us from somewhere deeper within. We are being invited into the myth.

Although its career began in the simple idea of a narrative “plot,” myth is a term used in literary theory to identify a certain kind of story. A myth is not necessarily a story about the gods, but one that serves to orient our human concerns and aspirations inside an ultimately meaningful universe. It was only after we reached the presumption that our myths were factual reports that myth in general got downgraded to misleading fiction, deliberate deception, and erroneous beliefs (as in “The 10 myths of weight loss”).

The true meaning of a myth has really nothing to do with the objective accuracy of what it says, but rather with its power to touch, awaken, and direct human consciousness to the deeper mysteries of life and death.

In the Gospel myths the storyline has been elaborated in slightly different ways around this threshold symbol of a tomb. The action plot of the story moves through (or over) this threshold to the “other side” where the jubilant announcement is heard: “He is risen!” As threshold, the symbol occupies not only this horizontal axis of the temporal plot, but a vertical one as well, inviting our descent from overt meaning into a deeper register of awareness. Now the tomb begins to resonate in relative isolation from the narrative background and action sequence, serving to carry or “bear across” (meta–phorein) our contemplative focus from surface meanings into the depths of mystery.

Meaning is our mind’s effort to qualify the mystery of being alive and living toward death. If all that elaboration at the surface is to orient our existence inside an ultimately meaningful universe – and be meaningfully relevant – then some acknowledgment must be made of this one inescapable fact. And yet, perhaps by putting our focus on the end of our life’s sentence we are missing the real insight here.

Eachmomentcomesand goes. The present arises, passes away, and rises again. From quarks to quasars and throughout the fragile web of life stretched in between, existence moves according to a rhythm of emergence and dissolution, rolling into waves and unwinding again, holding on and letting go. We see this all around us, but when it comes to contemplating our own final release we tense up and grip down in fear.

In actuality we are progressing through an indeterminate sequence of losses – thatis to say, if our ambition is to hang on and make it through.

But what if we could let go? What would happen if we could find the courage to surrender ourselves to the provident grace of this moment, into the spacious emptiness of this present mystery? Beliefs, which are really conclusions from the past, would give way to faith, the ever-present act of resting fully in the Now. No longer would we (barely) live as hostages to our convictions, taking life in the name of truth. Instead, our peace would be timeless, our love boundless, and our joy would have no end.

This is how Jesus was said to live. When he died, those who understood him best knew that it wasn’t over. To the degree he had offered his life out of the spontaneous generosity of each moment, no tomb could hold him for good.

I am of the opinion that a human being desires. Before this desire gets directed along a particular channel and attached to a specific object, it is life in its purest form. Life, desire, creativity and spirit – these are deeply synonymous terms in the vocabulary of what it is to be human.

Think of desire as the current that activates and inspires our experience at different levels. Oriental philosophy offers the idea of chi or energy and the various chakras or activation points along the vertical axis of the spine. Each center opens out to reality at a unique frequency of intelligence and concern. When the chakras are fully aligned and activated, an individual experiences “flow,” fulfillment and well-being.

The West has its own chakra system, although it hasn’t been developed to the degree of detail and sophistication as in the East. Typically these activation points go by the names “mind,” “heart,” and “will” – where mind thinks, heart feels, and will moves you to act. Medieval philosophy in many ways is best understood as a sustained contemplation and dialogue on these three energy-centers in human experience.

For their part, soul and body are not regarded as additional centers but refer rather to the deep interior (soul) and animal nature (body) of a human being. It was only later that a third dimension was clarified – not a “power” or energy center but what I have elsewhere characterized as a standpoint in reality – named ego. This is the socially constructed and self-conscious identity of an individual person.

As a construct, ego lacks the “substantiality” of the soul and body, and for that reason it would be acceptable to say – with Siddhartha Gautama (the Buddha) – that it doesn’t even exist. It’s a project and projection, a rather neurotic contraction of defenses, attachments and delusions.

In the language of liberation, awakening, and the creative life, ego is our primary obstacle. It’s what needs to “die” – in the words of Jesus (the Christ) – so that our deeper life can rise up and find its wings.

Back to the energy centers. This idea has become particularly interesting to me of late, as I reflect on creativity, desire, and spirit. I am appreciating more how the truly creative individual is one whose mind, heart and will are perfectly aligned and fully activated. In order to work out the implications of this, let’s look more closely at each of these Western chakras.

For our purposes I will use the organs of the brain, heart and gut as visual representations of mind, heart and will. And even though we are born with all our organs intact – with the brain nevertheless continuing to mature still into our third decade – I am going to begin this reflection at the gut level and move upwards, following the direction of development.

Why is it that you feel sick to your stomach or have issues with your intestines when you feel distressed or threatened? Your gut is a system of organs working together to metabolize nutrients and remove toxins. When stress hormones are released into the bloodstream, your gut gets thrown into high gear so that you can have all the energy you need to get out of danger.

Your gut is the energy point where you feel either securely grounded or dangerously at risk of not getting what you need to stay alive. At this level of intelligence, reality needs to be experienced as provident and supportive, something greater in which you can trust and have faith.

Of course, the indisputable fact that you are alive is proof enough that you live in a provident universe. Not only “this place,” but this planet, this solar system, this galaxy, and the entire cosmos are conspiring at this moment to provide what you need to stay alive and flourish.

Key words here are: Providence, Support, Security, Trust and Faith.

When you have the assurance of this, the energy flow of desire is allowed to ascend the axis to points above. If it’s uncertain, or if you were raised in a home where there was lots of deprivation, neglect, abuse and repression, then the energy that should be ascending gets stuck in your gut. You can expect your health and happiness issues to be centered there.

But let’s say you are faithfully grounded in a reality that is provident and supportive. This sense of security is like a gate that lets desire continue on its upward circuit. Next it comes to your heart.

Why is it that when someone close to you decides to leave or is suddenly taken away, you feel “brokenhearted”? Why do so many people suffer from heartache? Your heart, more than any other organ, is connected to every other organ and outpost in your body. By its very nature it is about cooperation. When the connection between your heart and another organ is lost or obstructed, that organ will die.

Your heart is the energy point where you feel either intimately connected or coldly removed from the web of mutual interdependence. At this level of intelligence, reality needs to be experienced as relational and loving, something in which you can belong and find love.

A distinction between Western and Oriental cosmology is that while the latter regards the multiplicity of separately existing things as an illusion, Western philosophy and science affirm it as foundational to what the universe is. A corollary of this idea is the view that being is essentially relational and dynamic rather than monistic and unchanging.

When you have the assurance of this, the energy flow of desire is allowed to ascend the axis to the next point above. If it’s absent or doubtful, if your experience has involved more than your share of exploitation, rejection, betrayal or dysfunctional relationships, then the energy that should be ascending gets stuck in your heart. Your health issues might be centered here, in the physical consequences (or early symptoms) of losing your passion, compassion, and communion with life.

But let’s say you do feel a strong sense of belonging and healthy rapport in your relationships. This sense of intimacy is like a gate that lets desire continue on its upward circuit. Next it comes to your brain/mind.

Why is it that a lack of clarity in your efforts to make sense of something gives you a headache? Why are people so ready to trade their lack of meaning and purpose for a psychiatric diagnosis and treatment plan? Your brain is your “executive” organ, the seat of conscious awareness, and the worktable in your construction of meaning. Its dual responsibilities are to regulate the internal processes of your body and articulate the neural platform of your mind (thinking self).

Your brain is the energy point where the certainty of your life’s meaning is managed. With its unique cognitive powers you are constantly sounding a transcendent reality for echos of significance. At this level of intelligence, reality is scanned for patterns, rhythms, and correlations, which are then analyzed, synthesized, and fantasized into a cross-referencing system of meaning known as your world.

What you seek is understanding, and as you are busy with the process of constructing meaning, various checkpoints along the way (conventionally called “facts”) challenge your brain to update its world-picture.

Now, if the ascending path of desire has gotten tangled up and caught on hooks farther down, leaving only a trickle of energy by the time it reaches this point, your personal meaning can become extremely rigid, awkwardly outdated, and curiously dogmatic. When your intellectual guidance system is out of sync with the actual coordinates of reality, you should expect headaches – physical and otherwise.

Okay, so there you have my interpretation of the Western “chakra system.” Human creativity is an inverse function of the “impedance” in this flow of energy/desire/spirit through the primary centers of the gut, heart and brain.

The more impedance – that is to say, the greater degree in which this creative flow gets “hung up” and pulled off center into the various ailments, demons, and neuroses of our predicament – the less creative we are. (I suppose it’s obvious to also say, the more destructive we tend to become.)

The creative life is grounded in the provident mystery of reality. It flows outward into communion with all things. It strives to ask better questions, ones that will deepen understanding and open up a larger vision for our lives.

I think this model has a lot to commend it. Philosophy, theology, politics, business, commerce, art, science, medicine, ethics – we stand a chance of getting our cultural system back on track and centered again.

Today, as the living stream of spiritual life grows increasingly frustrated behind the rigid walls of conventional religion, more and more people are looking for a way through. While a large number keep this struggle to themselves, willing to accept the problem of relevancy as a fault of their own, others are beginning to speak out.

Many are leaving church on their own accord; others are being asked to leave.

Of course, similar things have happened throughout Church history: revivals, protests, and reformations are how religion stays current and meaningful in changing times. For the most part, orthodoxy has managed to accommodate our spiritual development, translating age-old doctrines and philosophical assumptions into present-day convictions.

Until recently, that is.

As church leaders experiment with new technologies and orchestrate an experience that is consumer-oriented and entertaining, churches and denominations continue to decline in membership. Charismatic preachers and sentimental praise songs are still an attraction and have their effect, but our deeper spiritual quest is going unanswered. Instead of vibrant insight into the present mystery of reality, we are handed the reheated leftovers of tradition.

Readers of this blog are already familiar with my criticism regarding these attempts at Sunday morning entertainment and retooling orthodoxy for another go-around. The problem of declining membership is centered not in the method of delivery but in the message being delivered. We are in the midst of a shift where religion needs to empty its buckets for a fresh refill from the moving stream of spiritual life.

A mystically grounded faith – that is, an existential trust in the real presence of mystery – has always been the place in religion where this refreshment of meaning happens.

However, because orthodoxy is innately suspicious of the mystical experience, the present-day solution to the problem of relevancy amounts to painting old buckets and calling them new. The water inside – if there is any left – is staler than ever.

Mystery. At the heart of reality is a present mystery. This mystery is immediately accessible yet transcendent to our minds, always within our reach but forever beyond our grasp. It is the very ground of being, not out there somewhere but deep “in here” – inherent to existence and profoundly internal to consciousness.

It is the source and suchness of all beings; not another being, but being-itself. The present mystery of reality is continuously passing yet eternally Now. This moment is the narrow gate to communion with God.

Meaning. In itself, the real presence of mystery is ineffable; it can only be encountered, entered, and experienced. Putting concepts around it – or scooping it up into mental buckets – gives it form and makes it meaningful. But every image, symbol, metaphor or concept constructed by the mind is only an artifact of our intelligence, not the mystery itself.

Meaning-making is what the mind does. Drawing inferences and associations into the realm of daily concerns is how our minds translate mystery into meaning, experience into something more useful.

Self. A human being is a form of consciousness with the capacity to look outward on the present mystery as it manifests itself to our senses in our surroundings, as well as inward to the mystery of our own depths. Referring to these two orientations of awareness as “body” and “soul” has frequently led to their differentiation into opposite (and opposing) parts of the self.

Forcing this split of body and soul is a third mental location of human consciousness, known as ego (or “I”). Ego is not a primary orientation of awareness, but is rather a social construct consisting of gender instructions, role assignments, moral agreements, and cultural expectations defining what it means to be a member of the tribe.

In ego formation, the animal instincts of the body are disciplined and domesticated. For societies where this training is particularly harsh, repressive and shaming, the ego can psychologically dissociate from the body and mistake itself for the soul – but now as a metaphysically separate thing, an immortal personality detached from the life of the body.

Deity. Whereas the familiar moniker “God” (with a capital ‘g’) is useful in talking about the various ways that human beings cross-culturally represent the real presence of mystery, “deity” (also “god” with a lowercase ‘g’) refers to the portrait in art, myth, theory and doctrine of that never seen but much talked about guarantor of tribal authority.

Mystics seek the ineffable experience of real presence, while priests are social functionaries who perform on behalf of their deities, collecting the offerings from the congregation and dispensing favors of membership and the assurance of salvation.

Despite my satirical exposé, I nevertheless see a vitally important role for the patron deity of theistic religion. As The Voice of temperance, equanimity, fidelity, mercy, compassion and forgiveness, god’s command and personal example (as rendered in myth and exposited from the pulpit) serve to raise the moral aspirations of believers to the divine ideal.

As the mythological god becomes, with the advancing spiritual development of his mythographers, less vengeful and more benevolent, so too does the worshiping community grow into a more enlightened moral presence in the world.

Salvation. As human culture has evolved, the representation of our principal dilemma and its solution has changed accordingly. Earliest cultures were centered in nature and the body, and death was the obvious problem. Salvation (the solution) was not everlasting life in another world, but ritual renewal, seasonal rebirth, participating in the rhythms and priming the life cycle with appropriate sacrifices.

Gradually cultures became more socially centered, that is to say, increasingly preoccupied with tribal order, membership, and authority. As you might guess, this was the Age of Ego, when the urgencies of the body needed more than ever to be managed and the resources of nature exploited in the interest of social stability.

It was at this point that the control system of morality, dictated by the patron deity and enforced by his ordained deputies, created the very ideas of transgression, sin, and guilt. Thus did salvation become redefined as repentance and the reconciliation of sinners to god.

Most recently – but still going back 2500 years or so – a second shift occurred, corresponding this time to the awakening of a more mystical sensibility. The problem in this case was precipitated by the foregoing “solution,” where ego and the tribal deity came to oppose the body and nature – controlling them from outside, as it were – resulting in a pathological dualism.

Brokenness, division, separation and estrangement: not the enmity between sinners and god of the earlier phase, but a rupture in consciousness caused by the ego in its very formation is what needs to be resolved. Salvation, then, is the process of dropping attachments of “me” and “mine,” and releasing oneself in full surrender to the present mystery.

Truth. In light of this, the spiritual life becomes a quest for truth. Not a truth or even the absolute truth in doctrinal terms, but The True, the really real, life deep and abundant, authentic existence, radiant being.

Obviously this is not something that anyone (or any religion) can scoop up in conceptual buckets and carry to market. Truth, here, is not an article of knowledge but the depths and transforming power of an experience.

This is our way through. Theists don’t need to become atheists and leave their religion behind. Indeed, arguing for or against the existence of god (note the lowercase) is really a pointless exercise anyway.

The urgency today is for religion to catch up to the progress of spiritual evolution on our planet.

Look around and rest your gaze on something nearby. What do you see? A coffee cup.A potted plant. An old paint-peeled wooden fence outside the window.

What if I told you that you are mistaken?

The things you just named are only concepts – meanings that your mind is putting around what you see. “Coffee cup,” for instance, only exists in your mind. As a concept, it links this thing into a web of associations primarily having to do with usefulness. This thing holds coffee and you can drink from it. It is an example of a semantic category that only makes sense within a general context of human purpose.

Constructivism holds that meaning is constructed by our minds and does not exist independent of a particular form of intelligence (our own) that is linguistic, conceptual, categorical and descriptive. Coffee cups wouldn’t exist if the intelligence that created and uses them never did.

But what about things that aren’t artifacts of human craft and technology?

That plant in the pot over there – certainly it exists independent of your mind, right? Look again.

“Plant” is also a concept that you are putting around that thing. It’s there on the “table” because it adds color to the “room” you’re in, as well as a hint of life in an otherwise artificial and sterile environment. The concept of “plant” and all its associations makes that thing meaningful.

But what is that thing without the concept of plant around it?

My word for it is mystery, which is about as nondescript a concept as our mind can manage before starting to spin a web and turning it into something for us. The present mystery of reality is concealed behind our conventions of meaning.

Once in a while this real presence breaks through the concepts we put around it, and when it does, our minds are typically stunned into a state of wonder, fascination, astonishment and awe. Another word for this real presence of mystery is radiant being or glory. In those moments of revelation (when the veil of meaning is pulled aside) the fullness of reality shines forth.

The practice of meditation can help us enter this state of present awareness where the radiant being and glory of reality is witnessed. Not a “coffee cup” or a “potted plant,” but this – the present-moment suchness of … this.

True enough, at some point we will need to exit this ecstatic state of mind and get back into that very complicated web of meaning called our world. We tend to be more comfortable there, more confident in what we think we know, more in control of what’s going on.

Ego much prefers to look in a mirror than through a clear window.

And what is ego but a tangled knot of personal preferences and convictions, ambitions and defenses, occasional embarrassment and tenacious conceit? Ego is our self-concept, the concept that has been put around our essential suchness. It is the conditioned self as distinct from the essential self, commonly called the soul.

Of course, once this essential self and concealed glory of the soul is named, it’s almost impossible to resist its further definition into something separate from the body – metaphysical, immortal, and belonging to another realm. When this happens, the soul is identified with the ego – as “my true identity” or “who I really am” – and a mystical realization is quickly and fatally corrupted into a heavy sediment of religious dogma.

An unfortunate consequence is that a genuine experience of mystery gets shrouded by concepts and shredded into meaning. What might have expanded into a “new mind” (metanoia) with “no-self” (anatta) to take control and make it meaningful, instead gets pulled into a neurotic orbit around me and mine. The grace and glory of radiant being is compressed into words, spun into creeds, and enforced as saving doctrine upon the minds of true believers.

When it comes down to it, ego craves tight spaces and there is no tighter space than the inside of a fervently held belief. Ironically, while ego-centered religion aggressively advances its message of escape, it makes itself a hostage of its own convictions.

If the human spirit longs for freedom and expansion – and I think it does – this constricting force of religion is largely responsible for the spiritual frustration driving our present civilization into a deepening spiral of tribal violence and rampant consumerism.

Whoa! Back to that coffee cup.

Take another look. What do you see? Suchness. Mystery. Real presence. Radiant being. Glory. This is the present mystery of reality. It is not a “cup,” just a means of carrying “coffee” so you can make it through the reading of this blog post.

Pick it up. Feel its weight and balance in your hand. Observe its color and contours. Tap it lightly and listen. Surrender your labels and concepts. Forget about what this thing is for, what use it has to you. Instead of closing your mind down on its meaning, allow attention to open out to its mystery. Give up the idea for a moment that this thing is here for your sake.

When you release the present mystery of anything from the constraints of meaning, you’ll be surprised at how centered and grounded it reveals itself to be. When you can let go of your conditioned self – although admittedly this can be terrifying when you’ve been playing safe inside its narrow space – the glory of your human nature can touch the radiant being all around you.

The glory of that present mystery in your hands calls to the mystery of your own being. As the concept drops away, so too does the part of you that craves the illusion of security, control, and distance that meaning can provide.

The early Greek Christian bishop Irenaeus once wrote, “The glory of God is the human being fully alive, and the life of a human being consists in beholding divinity.” Although orthodoxy would take off in a very different direction, this confession, this mystical witness to the glory of radiant being, is, as they say, on the books.

Metaphors operate at a level where experience first breaks over the threshold into expression, the real presence of mystery into representations of meaning. At a very deep level – just short of the very deepest – human beings orient themselves according to a guiding metaphor of life itself.

What is life, and what is your place in it?

Western culture is organized around a guiding metaphor of life that we could name circling the drain. With its accent on the individual, everything tends to be oriented according to the individual’s perspective, more specifically to the perspective of that separate identity called ego.

This is who I am. This is my tribe. These are the things that belong to me. Such are the ambitions I have for myself. I have a limited amount of time to realize my dreams, and finite resources to exploit before my time is done.

I do my best to hold and protect my own, to get what I need and have enough of what I want, but it’s very apparent that life is leaking away from me all the while.

This drain metaphor of life spawns other secondary metaphors, which are more enmeshed in language and hence more meaning-full. The farther out and dependent our minds become on this web of meaning, the more dogmatic we get in our beliefs, the more convicted of our certainties, and the more vulnerable we become to anxiety and depression. We worry over many things, sink into fatigue and discouragement, and get just enough rest to rush out and try it again.

Western religion has compensated for this inherent bipolarity in egoism with its invention of an afterlife fantasy where the ego will live on forever once the body expires. Physically my body is trickling down the drain with each passing minute, but I (ego) will not die. Instead I will pop out on the other side, fully intact and without the drag of a mortal frame. Over there, I will be reunited with my loved ones who went down the drain before me, and I will be everlastingly happy.

The metaphor of circling the drain, therefore, is what inspired our familiar and highly defended notion of salvation as a rescue project. What we’re looking for cannot be here, for the obvious reason that everything is going down the drain. Our only hope is to find the way out – out of this world, out of our bodies. Not really out of time, exactly, since heaven is supposed to be everlasting, but at least in time without a drain to worry about.

Outside of religion, the metaphor of life as circling the drain has stimulated a view of theindividual as consumer – needing, demanding, taking, devouring, using, spending, wasting and casting aside the leftover junk. We have been brainwashed to regard ourselves as chronically empty – of what exactly, no one knows for sure. But there are countless fillers on display in the marketplace that we are encouraged to try out. Keep your credit card handy.

So we oblige by filling ourselves up with all manner of “stuff” and in the process have become discontent and possessive, malnourished and overweight, popular and lonely, renting storage and buying insurance policies to keep it all safe as we inwardly waste away.

There is another metaphor of life, one that predates our Western notion of the drain by thousands of years. Its roots are in the organic intelligence of the body – the very problem from which the ego seeks escape. It is central to a grounded and mystical spirituality. Instead of circling the drain, this metaphor invites you to join the stream.

Life is a flowing river, and you are part of the mystery. There’s no need to throw yourself into a tightening spiral of anxiety, craving, attachment, frustration, disappointment, desperation and depression.

True enough, since the larger culture has been constructed around the drain metaphor, you will be tempted to regard this idea as something else you need to take and make your own. But that’s just ego again.

By its nature, a stream cannot be possessed. If you should try to dam it up and turn it into a reservoir, you might achieve the illusion of ownership and control, but your entire perspective will have shifted to a vertical axis centered on leakage and loss prevention – the drain again.

Joining the stream promotes a very different outlook on reality, a different way of orienting oneself in the world. As a metaphor, it counteracts the ego’s tendency towards nervous consumption and the grip-down on me and mine. Rather than closing focus down into a spiraling anxiety around the drain hole of mortality, the stream metaphor opens our focus up to the larger reality to which we belong.

Our separation from reality and antagonism to life is only a delusion of ego consciousness. I (ego) am not really separate from everything else, but my insecurities and defenses make it seem so. And yet, this mistaken sense of separateness is what alienates me from my body and hence also from life itself.

The metaphor of life as a stream is also a gentle reminder that it’s not about me. Admittedly it can be a considerable – perhaps even traumatic – change in perspective that’s required, and one that isn’t supported by the general culture we live in. To some extent this has always been the case.

Even though their teachings were later turned into programs of escape from mortality and its complications, Siddhartha and Jesus were really speaking about the opportunity afforded in each moment of life to release the neurotic compulsions of “me” and “mine” for the sake of a larger and more participative experience. The Buddhist “no-self” (anatta) and the Christian “new mind” (metanoia) are early concepts that get at this idea of joining the stream.

The above chart sets in contrast these two different images, identifying the points where each guiding metaphor works its way into our worldview, our fundamental attitudes toward life and the values we uphold, as well as our approach to the mysteries of death and dying.

Everything changes as you learn to give in to the greater reality, rather than stubbornly insist that reality deliver on your demands. You are wonderfully free of convictions and the need to be right. You begin to understand that nothing belongs to you, that there is only One Thing going on here and you are part of it.

In life and death, you can be fully present and trust the process. This is the essence of faith.